


The Blooming Rose Tea Shop & Bakery

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tea Shop, F/M, Fluff, Oh good lord the fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Blooming Rose Tea Shop and Bakery is not on the main street. It is barely just off the main street. But a more wonderful welcoming atmosphere, you will not find anywhere else. As soon as you step in through the green door, you are taken on a journey of comfort and warmth, through the steam of Cassandra's teapot and the smell of Varric's oven.</i>
</p>
<p>When Cassandra finds herself forcibly unemployed, Varric suggests a new venture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn - The Hospital

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satine86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/gifts).



Cassandra Pentaghast wakes up in a hospital bed. Which, she has to admit, is something of a new one. She blinks owlishly at the fluorescent lights overhead.

“Where -”

“Princess?”

She recognises that voice, turning slightly to find the source. “Varric?”

He leans forward in his chair, looking disheveled. “Hey,” he offers, smiling slightly. “You’re still with us, then.”

“Where are we?”

“Saint Elthina’s General. You, uh… you had a heart attack.”

She blinks. “I - _what?_ ”

“You were at work and you had a… a heart attack.” He swallows. “It was pretty scary.”

“Oh.” She thinks. “Sorry.”

He reaches for her hand, squeezing it. “Are you apologising for - you know what, doesn't matter. You're okay.”

“ _You_ are here.” She shakes her head slightly, still groggy. “No, I mean - I just did not expect -”

“I was with Curly when he got the call. He's just stepped out for some air.”

“Ah.” A long exhale. “How long -”

“You've been asleep for most of the day.” He settles back in the chair. “Sparkler is furious with you. Curly’s been pacing. _I_ wanted to draw on you, obviously -”

She laughs. “Obviously.” 

“Oh, I - I made you a cake. Well, in my head. I'll make it later and bring it over some time. I think it's going to be good.”

She smiles, remembering his peculiar habit of stress-baking. He must have been worried, she realises - a strange thought. She watches him for a long moment, taking in the sterile surroundings. “How - how have you been?”

He looks at her incredulously. “Better than _you_ , clearly.”

“I simply mean - I have not seen you since the funeral.” Almost three months ago, she realises with a pang of guilt, since Varric's brother had passed away and he had turned up at the coffee shop, lost and alone. She had promised him she would be there for him, understanding the loss of a brother all too well. “I should have -”

“Don’t. You’ve been busy,” he smiles, “working too hard and almost…" He stops, before clearing his throat and starting up again. "Well. Working too hard. You need a new job. Managing Val Royeaux Cafe is ridiculously stressful on you.”

“You _always_ say that.”

“Maybe this time you'll believe me. How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“Go back to sleep, Princess. I won't tell Sparkler he missed you.”

She hums as her eyes close again. “Where would I be without you?”

A shift of fabric, and a soft kiss to her forehead that she might have imagined on the edge of sleep. “Rest, Princess. Just… rest.”

* * *

The doctors concur with Varric on the chances of her returning to her former job at the coffee shop, and by the end of the week she has handed in her notice and finds herself in Varric’s tiny apartment above what was once a fairly good record store, being served a slice of what he was temporarily calling her ‘heart attack cake’.

“I’ll think of a better name. I always do. So, did Ruffles call it a blessing in disguise?” he asks with a smirk, offering her a slice.

She snorts. “Of _course_ she did. As if a -” She stops, inhaling the cake with a smile. “Is this Nevarran spiced cake?”

He sits on the edge of the couch arm, grinning. “Sort of. Made a few changes. The chocolate, for one.”

“Chocolate? Hm.” She puts the plate down carefully before rummaging in her pack for a small tin. “Is your teapot clean?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leans forward with interest. “Do you have special tea?”

“It is special in that it will go wonderfully with the cake. From Antiva, a very delicate flavour. More like vanilla.”

“Shit, that sounds _great_.”

She produces the tea with a short triumphant noise, before waving him into a seat. “Let me. I feel useless.”

“You can take the woman out of the cafe…”

“Quite.” She busies herself in the kitchen, choosing mugs with care from the hotchpotch selection he had amassed. 

He smiles, resting his head on his hand. “Do you bake, Princess?”

She shoots him a look over her shoulder. “No, I like my friends too much to subject them to that.” He laughs, and she smiles as she turns her attention to the tea. “I have no gift for it as you do. I can cook, and I understand flavours, but baking is a skill I will never have.”

The sweet scent of the tea fills the small room, and she smiles, finally feeling relaxed after a turbulent week. It must show, for when she turns around Varric is looking decidedly smug.

“You look happy.”

“Tea makes me happy. It is restful, even when it is strong. There is a process to be followed, a story that unfolds with each curl of heat that rises from the cup. It is never the same, ever, and it leaves you changed.” She sets the cup in front of him before resuming her seat. “Coffee is good, but tea is always _perfect_.”

She can feel his eyes on her. Suddenly aware that she might have said too much, she changes the subject.

“How have you been, anyway? I know last time we spoke, you said something about paperwork -”

“Huh? Oh, the estate papers.” He leans back, shrugging. “Yeah, managed to untangle that mess. My sainted mother wrote better legalese than most lawyers these days. She very much did not want me becoming the _de facto_ heir, even if Bartrand passed away.”

“But you are her son.”

He shrugs lightly, though she can see the weight around his shoulders. “That’s not really how we worked. But I found someone to sort it out - one of Ruffles’ friends, actually. Everything was transferred last week. Now I am, as they say in the North, fucking rich.”

She smiles slightly. “You were _fairly_ rich before,” she points out. “You’ve never _needed_ a job.”

“Needed one to stop me from going insane - something I’m sure you’re getting familiar with.”

She pulls a face. “Quite. I am not sure what to do with myself at the moment.”

“Find something else. Something enjoyable, something you're passionate about, something -”

Varric stills, staring into his drink for a long moment.

“Varric?”

“Something that's always perfect.” He looks up at her, grinning. “Let's open a tea shop.”

She laughs. “A tea shop.”

“Yeah! I'll bake, and you can pair up drinks, and -”

“You want to open a _tea shop_.” She puts her cup down. “That is ridiculous. Varric Tethras, owner of a _tea shop_.”

“Think about it, Princess. All our friends will come, so we have a solid client base already, we know plenty of suppliers from your contacts, and your heart won’t be running a mile a minute. It's what you enjoy doing, but without the stressful parts!”

“Varric, my health -”

He takes her hands in his, looking up at her earnestly. “Tell me when you were last happy. Really. This is about more than your health. You’ve been throwing yourself at a brick wall and hoping you’ll break through, but as much as you want to love your job it’s grinding you down. You can’t keep driving yourself into the ground like this and expect that you’ll be alright.”

“You do not have to -”

“And it's… for me too, you know? I don't _do_ anything, and surprisingly it's really fucking _dull_. At least this way I'll be having fun and keeping busy. Just say yes. Say you'll work with me.”

“Varric.”

“Cassandra, say yes. _Please_.”

She sighs, dropping her head. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, why not?” She rolls her eyes, a wry smile on her lips. “At the very least I can stop you from throwing your money into a hole if it fails.”

He laughs. “Admit it, you're a little happier at the idea of working again.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, but she cannot quite shift the smile. “So, entrepreneur Tethras, where do we start?”


	2. Winter - Rules and Paint

The snow does not linger in the city, a fact for which Varric is grateful.

Still, he thinks as he watches Cassandra battle the winds up the street, the cold was ever present. He reminds himself to look into heaters, scribbling the word in his notepad before heading down into the shop.

The old record shop had been a damned steal, though the bread oven had been extortionate in comparison. He smiles as he leans against the doorframe of the new kitchen area, surveying what was installed and imagining the rest.

“When did that get here?” Cassandra’s voice is sudden and close, and he jumps.

“Yesterday. Nice, isn't it?”

“I thought we agreed on the cheaper model.”

“We did. And then I made an investment.”

“Of course you did.” She shrugs off her coat. “When are the counters being fitted?”

“Next month. The wood you wanted is on back order.”

“Naturally.”

“I wanted to go over some aesthetic choices with you.”

“I am fine with anything that is not themed.”

“ _Cassandra_.”

“What?”

“You keep _doing_ this. You keep sidestepping when I ask, and then you judge when I have to make the decisions on my own. I want you to feel like this place is yours, too!”

“But it _is_ yours.”

“Both our names are on the -”

“It is _your_ money, Varric.”

“Oh, come on, not this again -”

“Yes, this. Until you -”

“We can't get a loan because I have enough to cover everything -”

“That is hardly -”

“ _Hardly_ , she says!”

“Would you just - _oh_.” She sways, and he clasps her hand, heart in his throat.

“Hey, hey, no no - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -”

“I am fine,” she murmurs, but eases herself to the floor. “I just need a moment.”

He crouches next to her. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pushing you.”

She smiles up at him kindly. “You are not. I just feel a little light-headed. I am fine.”

He hesitates, remembering his mother for longer than he should. _Look at what you've done, boy! I'm helpless! Your own moth-_

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.” She squeezes his fingers. “It is not your fault, Varric.”

He swallows, watching her mouth as she says the words. Not your fault. And then he manages a weak smile of his own.

“Okay. Maybe we should call it a day. You can go to the doctor -”

“I just _got_ here.”

“You nearly passed out.”

“That is an exaggeration -”

“Workplace rule,” he says, and she scowls. “This will be our workplace, so I’m invoking it now. Go to the doctor, or I get to fire you.”

“You are unbearable,” she mutters, but she lets him pull her to her feet, reaching for her coat. “Fine. But only because I would like to _start_ working here before you fire me. Tomorrow, then?”

He smiles. “Tomorrow. Might start with the paint store. I’ll text you.”

“You had better.”

* * *

 

Varric is tired and bored, sat on a stack of wood varnish when she finds him the next day. She considers him for a long moment, and he can feel her eyes on him before she speaks.

“You look thrilled to be here.”

“Princess!” He smiles. “Feeling better?”

“I was fine,” she drawls, crouching beside him. “Is this for the exterior?”

“This is just a seat. But I thought whilst it was dry outside, it might be -”

“Varric, you _cannot_ be serious about this colour. It’s garish.” Dorian appears from behind a stack of tins, holding a plethora of colour charts. “Hello, darling. Feeling better?”

Cassandra rolls her eyes but smiles as she straightens up. “Yes, Dorian. What is garish?”

“He is eyeing up _that_ shade of orange.”

“Just for the outside!” he counters, and Cassandra laughs. “Hawke said -”

“Hawke is colourblind,” points out Cassandra kindly. “Perhaps something like _that_ one, if your heart is set on orange.”

Dorian’s eyes light up. “Oh, I like that. It's almost terracotta. Reminds me of home.”

“My heart’s not really set on anything. I just thought it’d be nice to stand out.” Varric stands, looking up at her. “What do you think?”

Dorian hums. “A Minrathous theme might be quite inspiring, actually. You can pay me to consult.”

Cassandra smiles. “Well, have we decided on a name? Perhaps our colour scheme could be derived from that.”

“You vetoed most of my suggestions.”

“And mine,” sniffs Dorian.

“But you liked the Blooming Rose.” Varric’s eyes light up. “We _both_ liked that one.”

Dorian’s nose wrinkles. “The Blooming Rose? Isn’t that a whore house?”

Cassandra blushes. “It is a -”

“It’s from a book,” Varric says carefully. “It’s a… pleasurable place, but it’s not -”

“Oh, _please_ don’t tell me you’re taking names from those ridiculous romance books she reads -”

“Sparkler, shut up.” He grabs Cassandra’s hands, looking up at her earnestly. “What do _you_ think?”

She swallows, and he can see the beginnings of an argument brewing in her eyes. But then she relaxes, smiling softly.

“I think,” she says slowly, “we could paint the exterior green. A nice dark green. And then have red inside - and a statement wall, with some nice wallpaper, perhaps. And maybe use that darker orange for accents.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Yes. That is what I think. What about you?”

“I think you’ve probably got a better grasp of interior design, so if you let me sort out the kitchen you can do what you like.”

“Really?” She lights up at the thought, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, really. Make it yours, Princess.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Shall I leave you two to kiss and make up?”

Varric swallows, letting go of her hands. “Ah -”

“No,” she says firmly, grabbing Dorian’s arm. “You can help me find a nice paper for that wall.”

He watches them leave, a knot settling in his stomach. It was a strange feeling, one not unfamiliar, but unexpected. It had begun when she had been in the hospital, and he had brushed it aside as concern, but… there was something warming about the joy in her eyes when they agreed on something. There was something electrifying about the sound of her laughter, when he could coax it from her lips.

There was something entirely wonderful about that smile, and he wanted to make it a permanent fixture in her life… and in his.

He swallows. “Well… _shit_.”


	3. Spring - Beginnings

Cassandra and Varric stand in the store room, eyes closed and hands held tightly. She takes a deep breath in, holding it for a few seconds, before letting it go again.

“Okay?” he asks softly.

“Okay,” she murmurs, opening her eyes to meet his. “Are you -”

“I’m fine,” he laughs. “Just worried about you. Even the slightest twinge, and you tell me. Promise?”

“Well, I am contractually obliged,” she drawls, sticking her tongue out as he laughs again. She had rather thought their ‘workplace rules’ were more jokes than anything - until Varric had produced paperwork for them.

“Yeah, well, I know you. Gotta hold you to that shit.”

“Varric?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“What happens if nobody comes?” She swallows. “What if -”

“If nobody comes,” he says calmly, “then we call our friends and tell them they’re all terrible, and we eat all the cake and we try again tomorrow. It might not happen straight away, and we know that, right? But it will happen.”

She nods, taking another deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright.” He lets go of her hands, taking a step back as she straightens. “Aprons on. Ovens warm. Smiles?”

She laughs. “ _Varric_.”

He grins up at her. “Perfect. I think we’re ready to open.” He beckons her to follow him through into the store, and she catches his arm.

“Wait, I…”

He blinks, looking up at her, and something in her throat catches. He had been so kind, always - even before the hospital, when their friendship had been tentative and awkward, built on the foundations of a friction they had clashed against. But he had always been kind.

She does know why. She is sure she has not always deserved it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

He smiles, soft as he squeezes her hand. “Hey, don’t get all sentimental on me, Princess. We have a business to run.” He leads her through to the store, letting go of her hand as they step through the doorway. Her back tightens, her heart speeds up, but more than anything the anticipation sets her nerves alight, the excitement palpable.

“Ready?” he asks, and she smiles, nodding.

“Open the doors. I shall put the music on.”

* * *

> _The Blooming Rose Tea Shop and Bakery is not on the main street. It is barely just off the main street. But a more wonderful welcoming atmosphere, you will not find anywhere else._

“You should write about how attractive the staff are,” offers Isabela, draping herself over Merrill’s shoulders.

“Isabela! This is a serious review!”

“I _am_ being serious!”

Merrill laughs, before continuing.

> _As soon as you step in through the green door, you are taken on a journey of comfort and warmth. The air smells of freshly baked goods, many of which are original creations from the professional baker, Varric Tethras -_

“No, no. Call him a master instead.”

“Why?”

“He’s not a professional outside of this job, is he? He’s great at it, but he’s not paid for it, so he’s not a professional.”

Merrill consider this, before amending the sentence.

> _\- from master baker Varric Tethras._

Isabela sniggers.

> _To many in this city, Cassandra Pentaghast is a staple of the industry - the former manager from the popular Val Royeaux Cafe has found a new home in the creative quarter of the city. Her knowledge of teas is incomparable, and no matter what your experience she will always have a smile and a brew perfect for your mood._

“And she’s totally got the hots for Varric,” drawls Isabela, smirking.

“Isabela!”

“She does!” The woman stretches, watching Cassandra at the counter. “And he wants her too. It’s sickeningly adorable. But you know him. He’ll never tell her.”

Merrill sighs, resting her chin on her hand. “Poor Cassandra. Poor Varric.”

“Bunch of idiots. Come on, finish that review, I want another slice of tart.”

Merrill smiles, batting her eyelashes. “Get me another pot of that lavender tea?”

Isabela laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sure thing, kitten.”

* * *

Cassandra hums as she grabs one of the smaller pots, finding Varric’s favourite blend and popping it in the strainer. There had been a vague ‘rush’ mid-morning, and the dwarf had retreated to the kitchen to prepare more of his sweet buns for the hungry patrons.

“Thirsty?” she asks, popping her head through the mesh curtain.

Varric looks up from the oven, and Cassandra swallows as a rivulet of sweat trails down his cheek, curling around the grin that forms.

“You,” he says, “are an _angel_.”

She shakes her head slightly, pouring. “You are ridiculous. But you are working very hard.”

“Well, if I’m taking tomorrow off then I need to make sure you’ve got enough stock.”

“Oh, of course.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?” he teases as she hands him the cup.

“Maybe a little.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Of course. This is hardly my first rodeo, and even our busiest time is manageable.”

He laughs, leaning against the workstation. “Good point. But will you manage without my wit?”

She smiles, rolling her eyes. “Enjoy your tea,” she says, before exiting the kitchen.

In truth, she was rather looking forward to the challenge - they had been in each others pockets for weeks, and as much as she had come to appreciate Varric in a very different light, she needed to prove that she was not changed from her experience.

That, and Bianca had promised to stop by.

She had met the woman entirely independent of Varric - a regular customer at the cafe, Bianca had been clever and funny and engaging, and Cassandra had thought nothing about the fact that she shared a name with a woman from Varric’s past. And then she had mentioned him in passing, and Bianca had admitted her identity. And, being a good friend, she had told Varric.

It led to their worst argument ever, and he had shunned her for months, outraged at her apparent betrayal. She had been hurt that her honesty had led to such vitriol, and angry that he thought he could dictate her life by demanding that she avoid the woman. It was only when Bianca herself intervened - with a stern tone she delighted in telling Cassandra about - that Varric apologised.

Cassandra could understand it - Varric had loved Bianca, heart and soul, and had been devastated when she left him at the altar for a man who had her parents’ blessing. But now that she had come to know the woman, she could not carry his grudge. And, in truth, Varric had admitted that his anger had long abated, and though he might never let his heart go as fully as he once had, he did not blame Bianca for that.

Still, Cassandra had suggested that the woman visit their new establishment on his day off, just to avoid any tension. It left them free to talk candidly about things - including, perhaps, her emerging feelings for him. It was unprofessional, awkward given their current positions, and she was unsure how to move past them. Bianca would know.

She could manage without his wit for that long, at least.

* * *

Varric yawns, stretching as he sweeps the kitchen floor. It had been quite the opening week - thanks to a rave review in the local paper, they had been pleasantly busy. Cassandra had smiled more than he had ever seen before - and he had to admit, her happiness had its personal benefits, his heart skipping oddly whenever she caught his eye.

“Varric?” she calls from the counter.

“Coming!”

The shop looks warm in the lingering light, the seats neatly stacked and the floor spotless. She is smiling again, though there is something behind it.

“I have something for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why am I worried?”

“You have, ah… problems. With the counter, sometimes. I did not think of that when we installed it - it is too high for you. I thought I could help with that.” She nudges a large box over to him, and he casts her another confused look before he opens it.

Inside is a stool. But not any ordinary stool - no, this one had been meticulously hand-decorated to be as sparkly and pink as possible, and bore a name-plate - _Bianca_.

He looks up to find her shaking with laughter.

“What the -”

“Because you always say that - that she was using you as a leg up - and now - _you_ can use _her_ -” Cassandra laughs, almost bent double as the words fail her, and he smiles as he picks up the stool and places it in front of her.

“What are you -” She sobers as he steps up, now nearly of equal height, and swallows. “Varric?”

“Shut up, Princess.” He grabs the front of her shirt and pulls her forward, lips pressed against hers, and sighs softly as his eyes close at the sensation of finally kissing her.

And then her hands come up to pull him closer, her mouth opening up to him, the softest noise he had ever heard her make, and he drowns in her, one hand in her hair and the other bunched in the fabric of her shirt as they lose themselves in each other.

Eventually, she pulls away, breathing hard. “Varric?”

He smiles. “Cassandra.”

“Why -”

“Really? You really have to ask?”

She bites her lip, and he reaches up, teasing it free with his thumb.

“Look, I, ah… I’ve wanted this for a while. A long while. But I don’t want you to think that you have to -”

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He swallows. “Oh.” A beat. “Good. _Great_. Better than -”

“Varric.” She is smiling, leaning forward until their foreheads meet. “I know you have been burned before. And I do not want you to say anything you do not mean. But you have done so much for me, and I… I love you for it. For _all_ your kindnesses.”

He wants to say it. He wants to - she has his heart, he knows that. But the fear grips him, and he cannot quite get there. Not today.

Instead he accepts her words, smiling slightly as he tells her something equally true. “Anything for you, Princess.”

“And I will get you a more… appropriate stool.”

He grins. “Naah. I like this one.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah. It’s the stool I used to kiss you. Best stool in the world, this one.”

She laughs, and he kisses her again and again.


	4. Summer - Tension

Dorian and the Iron Bull are frowning as Varric unveils his latest culinary creation. Cassandra is quite sure Dorian is going to make some smart comment, and shoots him a sharp look.

He does not assent.

“Love’s First Kiss? You're getting sentimental in your old age, Varric.”

He laughs. “Try it.”

“But it's so _small_.”

“Now now,” chides Cassandra, “love gives no regard to size, only passion and intent.”

“Hear that? She doesn’t mind that you’re a dwarf, Varric, you still have a chance,” Dorian leers, before she smacks him upside the head lightly.

“Behave.”

“I _am_ behaving.”

“Behave _better_ ,” she insists, and he laughs.

“Oh fine, I’ll try one. But I still think it needs a better name.”

Cassandra takes a bite -

Varric smiles up at her. “Good?”

She nods, and turns away to wipe crumbs - and the smile - from her face.

“Okay, it’s quite good. But why the name?” asks Bull.

Varric shrugs. “It made me think of that first kiss, you know? The way it’s sweet and spicy and always tastes better than you think it ever could.”

“Oh, Varric, are you trying to tell us you finally found someone who was prepared to kiss you?” teases Cassandra, and he smirks.

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know, Princess.”

Dorian looks horrified. “Varric, you can’t - you’re supposed to fall in love with our dear Cassandra!”

“Oh, give it a rest, Sparkler. We work together, that’s all.” Varric hops down from his stool, nudging it back under the counter before taking the plate back into the kitchen. “I’ll chalk that one up as a hit!” he adds over his shoulder.

Cassandra chuckles, before turning back to Dorian. He glares at her.

“What?”

“Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena -”

“Get on with it.”

“- Pentaghast, what are you doing?”

“I am working,” she deadpans. “As should you be. You have a paper on the merits of lyrium in the manufacture of antibiotics to write.”

“Please tell me you’re not pushing him away like the last one.”

“ _Dorian!_ ”

“You do this _every time_ -”

“Alright, maybe it’s time we left,” interrupts the Bull, resting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. The man looks mollified, picking up his bag before hesitating.

“I’m not going to apologise. I’m _right_.”

“Of course you are,” says Bull calmly, and Dorian sniffs before heading to the door.

Bull shakes his head, smiling slightly. “You could just _tell_ him.”

Cassandra starts, before rolling her eyes. “You always know. How do you always know?”

“I’m paying attention,” he teases. “Give Varric’s ass a good squeeze from me. After work, of course.”

She laughs as he takes his leave. It had not been intentional to keep their relationship a secret, of course - they had both agreed that their personal lives needed to remain separate from their work, and so had decided on a new workplace rule. No fraternising at work.

Of course, they were both guilty of breaking that one several times - she had cornered him in the kitchen, kissing him as the timers had rung out a chorus, and he had dragged her into the storeroom, breath hot on her neck as he pulled her down by the crockery. But bashful smiles and the occasional wink aside, they were as professional as they had been in that first week.

Which, of course, meant that their friends had no idea. Apart from Bull - who always just knew - and Bianca - because Cassandra had told her, had felt strange about not telling her - their nearest and dearest continued to believe them interested but apart from one another.

Varric had been surprisingly supportive of the notion.

“Let ‘em sweat it out a while,” he had laughed, swinging their joined hands as they had headed further into the city one evening. “If they work it out before the end of summer, I’ll give ‘em all free cake.”

“Free cake comes out of our profit margins,” she had grumbled, but it was proving harder and harder to stay annoyed with the man when his presence was so warming.

But everyone had picked up on the sexual tension, there was no denying that. Varric had agreed to take things slow, and the past few months had been filled with wonderful sweet moments that more often than not had ended with Cassandra at home, swearing loudly and taking more cold showers than usual.

She wanted him. But she wanted him to want her, too, and though she could see the desire in his eyes whenever their kissing got hot and heavy, she wanted _more_ than that. She wanted the words he could not say. And so they were stuck, inching ever closer to a more physical relationship but never quite getting there. And despite their best intentions, their tension had spilled into their professional life, and their friends were now taking bets on who would crack first and when.

Cassandra privately hopes for sooner rather than later.

* * *

Varric is cleaning up a small flour disaster when it strikes him. He props the broom up behind the door and dusts off his hands before heading to the front where Cassandra is humming along to the music as she puts the filters into the small washer.

He grabs her wrist. “Princess. Staff meeting?”

She blinks, but nods, following him into the store room. He is careful to close the door behind him.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just… I didn't want to wait til later.” He steps forward, taking her hands in his. “Cassandra, I… I love you.”

“Oh.” The smile that blooms on her lips is brighter than the sun. “ _Varric_.”

He grins. “I mean, you _knew_ that, right?”

“I hoped, but -”

“I know. Took me a while to be able to say it. Sorry.”

She ducks to kiss him, lingering for a moment before pulling back to smile down at him. “Thank you.”

“Do you, ah… do you want to move in? With me?”

“Me? Live… with you?”

He swallows. “Yeah. I mean, it'd make your mornings easier, and I promise I won't wake you at 4am and you’re here more often than not anyway -”

She kisses him again, harder this time and with more urgency as she backs him into the shelves. He quickly recovers, one hand tilting her head just so as he moans against her.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, yes -”

“Yeah? Fuck, I love you.”

Her hands tug at his shirt. “Love you - Varric, I _love_ you -”

And suddenly this was _happening_ , out of nowhere, and for a delirious moment he prays to any gods listening to grant him the patience and stamina to get her off first.

He grabs her waist, tugging at the apron. “Off - take it off -”

“Cassandra!” The voice of Cullen rings through the shop, and she stills, swearing under her breath.

“Can we kill him?” whispers Varric, and she huffs a laugh against his lips.

“No.” She swallows. “Maybe,” she amends, huffing again before she pulls away, straightening her clothes. “We should reconsider that workplace rule. Do I look alright?”

He reaches up, brushing her lips with his thumb. “Maybe a little flushed. Take that box of cups out with you to cover it - we need them anyway.”

She winks as she carts the box out to the front, and Varric takes a few deep breaths before opening the freezer and pulling out a tray of brownies.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he mutters.

* * *

The early mornings, Varric decides, are not getting easier.

He yawns, grumbling under his breath as he shuffles down the stairs and into the storeroom, and -

He stills at the sight of Cassandra, sat on top of a large box of chocolate chips, and frowns. “Princess? What are you doing here? It's Tuesday, you're supposed to be at home.”

She smiles as she pulls him closer. “I wanted to give you a hand.”

“I don't -”

“Hush,” she whispers, breath hot against his lips, and suddenly he is awake as her hand slips underneath the band of his trousers.

“Oh _fuck_ -”

She chuckles, smile impish. “Good morning.”

“Yes, it fucking is.” And he kisses her soundly, pressing her back against the shelves. “Please tell me you’re naked under that coat.”

She laughs against his lips. “Find out,” she murmurs, one leg emerging to wrap around his thigh and pull him closer.

His fingers trail along the inside of her thigh, disappearing underneath the fabric. And then he grins.

“ _Oh._ Hello.”

Her breath catches. “Hi.”

“You are wonderful. Have I mentioned that recently? Because you are.” His fingers tease, soft circles around delicate nerves.

“ _Ah_ \- Varric -”

“Let’s close the shop today,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to her neck. “Let’s go upstairs and fuck each other silly.”

“Varric, today is Tuesday -”

“So?”

She grabs his wrist, but does not pull his hand away. “My love, we - _oh_ -” She trails off as his finger presses into her at the words. “Varric, _please_ -”

“We’ll close the shop. We can do that. We own it.”

“Delivery day,” she gasps. “The Orlesian - he is never late - oh, Maker, Varric, _please_ -”

He slows at her words, eliciting a whine from her. “Shit. Delivery day. What time is it?”

“We have ten minutes.”

“ _Fuck_.”

She laughs, head resting against his. “Not enough time to rock my world?”

“I’d like you to be able to savour it,” he teases, before pulling his hand back and licking his finger. Cassandra’s breath catches, and he grins.

Outside, a horn beeps.

As one, they let out a frustrated sigh, and Varric steps back as Cassandra straightens her coat.

“Why don’t you head upstairs?” he offers. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Really?”

“Sure. And then,” he adds in a low voice, “I can take care of you.”

She blushes, but smiles. “Are you going to open the shop today?”

“Probably. But almost definitely late.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

She tilts her head slightly, the smile turning wry. “Well, I can hardly fuck you after work if you do not manage to get to _do_ any work, can I?” And with that she turns on her heel and heads upstairs to his apartment, leaving Varric with what he knows must surely be the smuggest grin in existence.


	5. Interlude - Summer Heat [NSFW]

Cassandra closes the door of Varric’s apartment behind her, taking a slow breath in. _Home_ , she thinks - a strange and wonderful thought, that she would soon be living here.

She smiles, before dropping the coat to the floor and walking into the bedroom.

*

Varric is not ashamed to say that he scampers up the stairs to his apartment. After dispatching the Orlesian with as much patience as he can spare, he was more than eager to continue where they had left off. Almost falling through the door, he is somewhat disappointed to find the living space empty.

And then he spots her coat on the floor, and all the blood vanishes from his brain to more important areas.

“Princess?”

“In here.”

He slides towards his bedroom - their bedroom, he amends, their safe haven, their love nest - _okay scratch that last one_ -

He freezes in the doorway.

_Oh. Oh, sweet Andraste, I am a lucky bastard._

Cassandra was wearing his nightshirt and a smile, and nothing else.

“You have a nightshirt?” she asks incredulously.

He swallows, nodding.

“You always have your chest on display, but this has buttons. I do not -”

Crossing the room in four steps, he scrambles onto the bed and presses his mouth to hers, fingers already working to unbutton the damned thing. She moans, a soft thing that catches in her throat as her hands tighten in his hair.

“Finally,” he breathes, yanking the shirt open and pulling back to admire her. “Oh, thank you Andraste.”

She laughs, the blush in her cheeks rising at his attention as she lets the shirt slip from her shoulders. “Do I please you?”

He stares dumbly, before swallowing. “Uh.” He smiles. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.” He ducks his head, pressing a soft kiss against the smooth skin of her chest, and her breath hitches.

“Varric - Varric, please, do not tease me -”

His lips are almost reverent against her skin, hands trailing down her sides and over her hips.

“You’re so fucking _naked_ ,” he murmurs. “I could do this all day.”

“You are insufferable,” she pants, hips rocking against his touch. “I need you, I need -”

“Tell me. Tell me what you need, Princess.”

She whines, and he grins against her skin, finger feather-light as it trails around her core and along her thigh. “Varric!”

“Use your words.”

“I want you to fuck me, I want your cock inside me, please, I _need_ -”

He groans, kissing her hard as he yanks his trousers down roughly, freeing his cock. “Come here. Come on, up - up -”

“My love, please, I - _oh_ -” Her lips part in a silent cry, her forehead pressed against his as she sinks onto his length.

Varric reaches up to cup her neck, pulling her into a heated kiss. “I love you,” he gasps. “Fuck, I love you, Cassandra.”

“Varric - Varric, please. _Please._ ”

He moves, achingly slow, and she lets out a moan.

“ _Oh_ \- oh, yes yes yes Varric _yes_ -”

“You like that?”

“Yes - Maker, Varric, _yes_ , I love it, I love you - ah!”

He rolls her over and onto her back, hoisting her leg over his shoulder before continuing his slow, deep strokes. “Is that good, sweetheart? Is that what you want?”

“Varric - I - oh, Maker, _Varric!_ ” His name escapes on a wail, her back arching as the pleasure overcomes her, and he grits his teeth as she comes around him, willing himself to keep up the slow pace.

“ _Ngh_ \- shit, that's fucking hot.”

She laughs, high and weak as her hand snakes into his hair. “Glad you approve.”

“Damn right I do.” He slows again, ducking to kiss her sweetly. “You okay?”

“Very.” Her legs curl around his waist. “I would be better if you were not holding out on me, though.”

“Who says I am?” he teases, but he knows she can see the tight look in his eyes.

“Varric, I will not be hospitalised if you fuck me,” she whispers, smile wry. “ _You_ might be, if you do not.”

He cups her cheek, searching her face for a moment. “Sure?”

“Varric -”

“I know, I just - you know me, sweetheart. Always gonna look out for you.”

“I know. And I love that. But I will not break, I promise.”

“Okay.” He kisses her, lingering for a moment before planting a hand either side of her and bucking his hips. “You asked for it.”

She lets out a gasp that fades into a laugh as her thighs tighten around him. “Yes, I di-”

He thrusts again, harder this time, and the sentence dissolves into a cry.

“Alright?”

“Yes - ah! Yes, keep going -”

His hands shift, one tight around her hip as the other threads between her fingers, pinning her down as he fucks her, short sharp thrusts that shake her body.

“Oh! Oh, yes - yes, Varric, fuck -”

Her breasts shake, his vision filled with her writhing body, and his fingers tighten against her skin, his need overpowering.

“I'm gonna - _fuck_ \- Cass -”

“Come with me - Varric, _come_ -” Her fingers tighten painfully in his hair as her back arches up off the bed, her climax loud and desperate, and it pulls at his own. He plants his face into her bosom, arms wrapping around her waist tightly as he thrusts deep into her, a drawn-out groan as his release pulses from him. For a long moment, there is only the dark and the warmth, and he takes a shuddering breath in before kissing the soft skin between her breasts and emerging with a grin.

“ _Damn_.”

She laughs, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Quite.”

“Seriously. That was… that was mind blowing.”

She kisses him before staggering up to get a cloth. “And other things,” she admits, leaning against the small basin.

He flops back on the bed, sighing. “Yeah… wait, you don't mean that literally, right? Your heart -”

“Is fine, yes. My _legs_ may not work, of course -”

He chuckles as she comes back to him, taking the cloth from her. “I love you.”

She drops next to him, curling into his side. “Mmm. You were very clear about that, my love.” She smiles up at him. “I love you too. Never doubt that.”

“I haven't so far.” He kisses the top of her head, pulling her in close. “ _Fuck_ , that was good. I like you loud.”

She laughs, a gentle chuckle as she buries her face in his neck. “I am… very glad you do not have neighbours,” she admits.

“Kind of wish I did,” he teases. “They'd be so jealous right now…”


	6. Autum - Shop Talk

The seasons change, and on the cusp of winter the tea shop is brimming with warmth.

“Please tell me,” groans Hawke as he props himself up on the counter, “that not everything is pumpkin-flavoured.”

“Not everything,” confirms Cassandra, “but he insisted on the scones.”

Varric emerges from the kitchen, triumphant. “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, they are as delicious as they look.” Cassandra smiles at the fat little scones sat on the tray he holds aloft, decorated with raisins to make them look like terrifying little pumpkins.

“I think,” says Hawke in that low drawl, “that you stole the idea from Val Royeaux Cafe.”

“Improved,” corrects Varric with a wry grin. “Perfected, actually. And they don’t serve theirs with a locally-sourced goat’s cream cheese. Princess, could you -”

“We will not be able to keep much of this in stock,” she warns, “unless we find a bigger refrigerator -”

“We can do that.” Varric smiles widely. “We can totally do that.”

“ _Varric_.”

“Look,” he says, taking the cheese out of her hands, “you don’t need to worry about money, I told you that from day one.”

“I am not having this argument today. That is what Saturday is for.”

“What’s Saturday?” asks Hawke, grinning as he looks between the pair. “Date night?”

Cassandra laughs, a sharp noise. “Hardly. I finally convinced Varric to let me look at the figures for this place.”

“She wants to know if we’re making any money, even though I said from the start that it doesn’t matter -”

“You cannot fritter away your inheritance, Varric!”

“- money has never mattered to me as much as happiness -”

“Which is why you fought for your inheritance in the first place,” drawls Hawke, winking at Cassandra’s short laugh.

“- and going through the books is just going to stress you out -”

“So we are losing money, then,” she says with a sigh.

Varric lets out a huff. “You are infuriating. I’m trying to look out for you and all you want to do is stop me!”

“I do not need looking after,” she retorts.

“Your heart -”

“Is fine! It has been fine all year!” She slams a cup on the counter, turning to face him. “You keep bringing it up like a shield, but my health is perfectly fine!”

“Princess -”

“No. Enough. You have kept Hawke waiting long enough. You should go and clean down the kitchen.” She does not meet his eyes as she busies herself with the new display, and she does not look up again until she hears the kitchen door close.

Hawke is staring.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly.

“What’s going on with you two?” he asks, leaning forward. “Are you… are you alright?”

She glances towards the door, before shaking her head. “He has done so much for me. I cannot watch him lose everything for this venture.”

“He wouldn’t mind.” Hawke smiles. “He meant it, you know. Being happy is more important than money, and he’s never been happier than since you two started working together.”

“But if we cannot make this work, then we will lose the shop, in the end. And I cannot - I will not let that happen.”

“You’re trying to protect him, the way he’s protecting you.”

“Yes, well.” She stiffens. “I could do without the bated breath every time I talk about going jogging.”

“He’s just concerned. You know how his brother died.”

She swallows, a pang of guilt. “I know.”

“And you’re important to him, even if he hasn’t said so.” Hawke reaches over the counter to take her hand. “You’re _really_ important to him. Can’t you just kiss him already?”

Cassandra laughs, the tight tension uncoiling from her stomach. It surprised her, in truth, that Hawke did not know. She would have assumed he would be the first person Varric would tell.

“Alright,” says Varric, coming back in from the kitchen. “Kitchen’s all done. Princess, I’m -” He stops, blinking as Hawke pulls his hand away from Cassandra’s. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, just a pep talk,” assures Hawke with a grin.

Cassandra offers a slight smile. “I am sorry. I should not have raised my voice so.”

Varric holds out his arms. “C’mere.”

She lets him pull her into a brief embrace, smiling as he mumbles an apology into her shoulder.

“Go and enjoy your night.”

“You could always join us,” offers Hawke. “Pub quiz could use another brain.”

“Ah, she’s never said yes yet, why would she say it now?” teases Varric. “C’mon, Hawke, let’s get drunk and pretend we’re smart.”

Cassandra waves them off, smile widening as Varric mouths ‘I love you’ from the door. Despite the tension, she knew that his concern came from a good place. She could trust that.

*

Saturday comes around a lot quicker than he is ready for.

Varric prepares the tea, a strange lightness in his stomach. Should he eat something? Should he make some fresh bread? Sandwiches, maybe - he shakes the thought from his head, bringing the pot over to the small table in the corner.

“Varric,” starts Cassandra, putting down a stack of papers.

“Do you want a sandwich?” he asks.

She stares up at him. “What?”

“Nothing, ignore me. What’s up?”

“These invoices are from last month. Where are the ones from before we opened?”

He blinks, before rolling his eyes. “Shit, I must have misheard you. That pile there.”

She eyes it with a little trepidation. “How much did you spend?”

“Enough to open the shop. Tea?”

She huffs, waving a hand. “Yes, fine. Varric, how much?”

“It’s all there,” he points out, pouring carefully.

“You do know you will not see any of that money back for a few years. With our outgoings? In the first year, we will be lucky to break even -”

“You keep saying that, but you’re forgetting we don’t owe any money. We didn’t get any loans and we bought this place outright, so there’s less going out than you think.” Adjusting his glasses, he grabs a fresh sheet and a pen. “Sure, our initial payouts were higher -”

“You never told me you bought the shop.”

“Didn’t think it was important.”

“Varric.”

“Alright, alright. But I wasn’t lying when I said it was cheap, okay? It worked out cheaper to buy it than to rent, and I haggled -”

“Dwarf,” she mutters into her cup.

“- you’re welcome,” he says succinctly, adding a few more totals to his calculations. “Look, my point is, we’re doing alright.” He pushes the paper over. “If that’s all we have going out, then that number below is what we need to break even every month.”

“But we -”

“Haven’t been doing that, I know. We knew the risk of not having a summer menu, we knew the risk of not applying for a street cafe terrace license. I still think we made the right decision, we’re in our first year.” He leans back, smiling. “But we’re not that far off, honestly. Look at October’s sales. And November is going the same way. If we keep this incline, we’ll only be a few thousand off by the end of the year, and that’s great for our first year. That’s better than great!”

She puts the cup down again, half-drained, and Varric shifts closer to her as she pores over the numbers. His hand is quick, his stomach flipping.

“I suppose,” she says finally. “If this is correct.”

“Princess, we’re doing alright. I told you, and now I have the numbers to prove it. Will you please just let it go?”

She shoots him a glare, before picking up her drink once more and sighing. “I just -”

“I know. You want to make sure I’m not going to fuck this up.”

“No. It is not that, never that.” Reaching out, she squeezes his hand. “I have faith in you, truly. But you are doing all this and I have put nothing in, and I am terrified that we are going to spend all of your money and that one day you will resent me or hate me, and then we will be either side of a courtroom and -”

“Shit, Princess, what are you talking about?” He smiles. “I know you worry, but this is next-level worrying.”

“You do not worry at all. Someone has to pick up the slack,” she teases.

And then, mercifully, the gentle clink of her cup in its saucer. And the secondary clink of the ring in the bottom.

A beat.

“Varric?”

Her voice is quiet, tight. He swallows.

“Yes, Princess?”

“What is - what is this?”

He smiles, looking up into wide eyes. “This is you making things difficult by savoring your damned drink,” he teases, taking the ring gently from her palm. “This is us about to have a non-work conversation.” Grabbing a napkin, he dries the ring with care. “This is me telling you that I love you - that I will always love you, and that I don’t want to picture a life without you, however well this venture goes. This is me telling you that you make me want to do this again. You make me want to _believe_ in this again.” He swallows again. “This is me asking you to marry me, Cassandra, and me hoping you’ll say -”

“Yes.”

“Exactly.”

“Yes.” She smiles, reaching out to frame his face in her hands. “Varric, _yes_.”

And then the penny drops. “Oh. Oh! Yes?”

“Yes!”

He grins, taking her hand and sliding the ring on, admiring it for a long moment. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before taking it off again.

“What - what are you doing?”

“Can’t wear it to work,” he points out, pulling a light chain from his pocket and threading it through the ring. “Well, you could, but it won’t stay bright for very long with all the steam. So I thought this would do.”

She smiles. “You always think of everything.”

“I try.” He motions for her to turn, carefully placing the chain around her neck before kissing just underneath her ear. “I love you.”

She turns to face him, smile wide and eyes glittering. “You want to marry me,” she whispers.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t - oh, no, don’t cry, it’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it?” He pulls her into his arms, her head buried into his shoulder, and laughs. “Hey, c’mon. No crying.”

“I love you,” comes the muffled reply.

“Then stop crying,” he teases.

“No!” But she shakes with the laugh that follows and pulls away, wiping at her face. “Only happy tears, my love.”

“Well, that’s alright then.”

She laughs again, looking at the table. “All this seems so silly, now.”

“You were just looking out for me,” he points out. “Just like I always look out for you. We’re a pretty good team, you and me.”

She nods, rubbing at her eyes before her fingers toy with the light chain. “I will always look out for you,” she says quietly.

“And I you,” he promises, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“We should probably tell everyone now.” She looks somewhat torn at the prospect. “I do not know how they will take it. We have been lying to them for some time.”

Varric considers this, understanding her struggle. As much as he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, it had been… exciting, in a way. “Well,” he offers, “maybe just a little longer. Just til the excitement’s worn off for us. Although I have to admit, the idea of becoming Mr Varric Pentaghast -”

She swats him with a bundle of receipts, laughing.


End file.
